


Working Mistakes

by nameless_constellation



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mafia AU, back on my bullshit again, look its the mafia AU no one called for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-05 05:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_constellation/pseuds/nameless_constellation
Summary: There is a drawing tacked up on the refrigerator, by the kitchen doorway. It is colourful, just like a child’s drawing should be. Like the first, clumsy steps he took, stumbling into the kitchen, the lines were thick and shaky, little coloured worms forming to the shape of a horse. A warrior sits atop the horse, wielding a shiny sword.“Thats who I want to be, Dad! Thats gonna be me!”People make mistakes sometimes and Keito was simply one of those ordinary folks who slipped up on his job.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 12am i really can't vouch for any quality here in fact none of my works are ever QC'd. Also tell me if you want anyone dead, or maimed.

There is a drawing tacked up on the refrigerator, by the kitchen doorway. It is colourful, just like a child’s drawing should be. Like the first, clumsy steps he took, stumbling into the kitchen, the lines were thick and shaky, little coloured worms forming to the shape of a horse. A warrior sits atop the horse, wielding a shiny sword. 

 

“Thats who I want to be, Dad! Thats gonna be me!”

 

If Keito closed his eyes right now, he could picture his son’s grin, brighter than a thousand suns. He could remember again the times he patted his tiny head, soft fluffy hair that grew ridiculously long. He could pretend that the gunshots around him didn’t exist, that the heavy scent of blood and metal didn’t cling onto him like perfume. He could pretend that the screams and last breaths weren’t just round the corner, round the container he hid behind.

 

Focus, he thought, focus. The world was blurring in and out, his sweat dripping from his fringe, into his eyes. Stinging, though he didnt take much note of it, mixing with the tears that  pooled but never fell. Since when did he become so sentimental?

 

Perhaps when he first adopted that kid.

 

That orphanage was not particularly crowded; they weren’t in a large town after all. It was far from the city, a quaint residence tucked away, just right around a bend. The headmistresses was a nice, kind old lady, picking children off the streets like stray kittens. “Oh, its nothing. I’ve retired, got plenty of money. This is the least I can do for them.”

 

There weren’t many children in that orphanage either, the well-behaved ones were swept away quickly by eager couples. Little more than 20 children remained, playing by the sandbox. A small boy tugged on his pants, his toy sword bumping up against his ankles.

 

“Mister, do you know how to use a sword?”

 

No, he didn’t, he replied, a little lost as to why he had a sword with him. Oh, was the only reply Keito had gotten, and the boy soon wandered off, his sword dragging on the floor.

 

He doesn’t have a family, the headmistress said, doesn’t know if he was abandoned or given up, just showed up at her steps with a sword in hand, asking for food. “The same sword?”, he had asked and she nodded.

 

He took the little boy home the next day. The legal procedures were brief and simple, the local enforcers simply had no time to care for the loud kid who dragged a sword around, who was starting a new life. No, they had much better things to focus on. Like donuts, coffee breaks, unpaid tickets and the criminal organisation in town that constantly slips right under their nose. 

 

A sigh slipped past his lips as a bullet whistles past, over his head. At this rate, his son might end up as an orphan once again. Being an orphan once, is being an orphan one time too many. Another gunshot and another thud, people are falling like flies; how many allies had he come with and how many still stood?

 

He peeked around the corner, his spectacles pressed uncomfortable against his cheekbone. One, two, three, four, five allies and about twenty enemies to go. One, two, three, four more bullets to go. The odds were not in his favour, stacked up against him like a tower built of cards. Flimsy, ready to fall. He pushed himself up, tense and nervous, ready to run into the fray yet again. He licked his cracked lips, and scowled.

 

Offence had never been one of Keito’s best abilities. While he functioned as an excellent spy or even as a decent sniper, he had never been the best at close range combat. His terrible myopia presented too well a weakness for opponents to exploit and his physical strength lost out to the hulking grunts the yakuza often hired. But his scope was broken, with no high ground in sight, leaving him as many options as he had bullets. Gritting his teeth, he lunged forward, almost scrambling, throwing himself in the midst of the chaos. 

 

The trigger went off, two collapsed and he kicked another in the shin. The man fell too, over the pier and into the waters with a loud plop. That’s 17 left, and 3 bullets in his guns. He doesn’t have much of a choice here, the mission had gone awry just 15 minutes in; denounced as a failure 5 minutes later and almost completely wiped out in the next 10. Really, how hopeless of them. It was aggravating, humiliating, the death rattles of his allies like salt on his wounds. Intelligence sector slipped up, missed a few blind spots or so, made a terribly flawed plan and got the whole team killed. He let those words run through his mind, flashing like headlines one might find on tabloids. Oh, he’s sure thats what his childhood friend would say, ailing in a throne so high no mortal could touch him, let alone wound him. He could picture his smile, a cordial raise of his lips and a slight crinkling of his eyes. That smile was as trustworthy as a superficial peace treaty from a man whose empire was built upon a foundation of bloodshed. 

 

It was his own fault for following him anyways, though he couldn’t quite say he regretted it. A summer made of childhood dreams and aspiration, going down the drain, washed into the wide seas where they will soon lose their way. Thats how he’d describe how their lives had played out, a a dreamy shoujo manga with its happy ending ripped out, as if its mangaka died before their work had been completed. They first met at a gala dinner, the pale sickly boy had taken his hand and tugged him into the gardens to look at the stars. They were 5 years old. At 10, they held hands as they walked through a crowded festival, feeling the sticky air between them. At 15, they watched as Eichi’s father went up in flames, his bones turning to dust. At 18, Eichi took over his father’s legacy and they built a castle of brutality and blood. At 21, Eichi continue to taunt Death, as he had has for the past 20 odd years, an underground tyrant, yet his hands remained as clean as angel’s wings were pure. At 21, with blood-soaked hands, Keito ran into the man who swept him off his feet.

 

That day, the setting sun had dyed the horizon a hazy orange red. As he watched the sunset, Keito allowed his feet to carry him mindlessly down an alleyway. His mind had been a jumble of thoughts; the sharp pain from side—— a shallow knife wound from an earlier mission—— eat away at his concentration. It was only after he heard the ruckus did he realise that he'd walked into a narrow, dark alley reeking of the metallic tang of blood. There were rough voices, shouting, hoarse shaky screaming, the all too familiar cracks of breaking bones. A body falls heavily to the floor with a thud and Keito backs up against the mucky walls, his hands feeling for his non-existent pistol. Another victim fell, this time right at his feet. His skull had been bashed in, a hollow crevice dipping down where his eyes should've been, where there were only crushed bits of flesh left.  His lips were swollen, or at least his upper lip was. There was a hole where his lower lip used to be, oozing black matter. Chunky bits of grey matter slowly falls onto the floor, creating ripple on the sticky pool of blood, quietly spreading around his shoes. 

 

The voices crept closer and closer as Keito stood cornered, until heavy shadows came into his line of sight. They were tall and well built, carrying with them a faint whiff or cigarettes and motor oil. Keito frowned, a biker gang? No, they weren't quite as violent, silently, he checked off a list of possible suspects. As the perpetrators rounded the corner, Keito braced himself for the worst conclusion, for the local Yakuza were their syndicate's greatest enemy.

 

"Hey, boss, we've got a lil' sneak here." 

 

The first man to see him immediately hauled him up by the collar, roughly peeling him from his spot by the wall, throwing him at the feet of a taller, burlier man. In truth, the men, with the exception of the one they called boss, weren't all that beefy, but Keito was reluctant to admit that he never grew out of him scrawny, twig-like build from his teen years. Although he could haul about his rifle with little to problems, close, hand to hand combat was another issue altogether. Discreetly, he winced as he hit the wet bricked floor, ripping his wound open even further. He said a silent prayer to whatever deity up there, hoping they didn't recognise him.

 

The man they called Boss merely grunted and hauled Keito up, this time by his arm, bending down to meet his eyes. As green eyes met golden ones, Keito could now see the face behind all the violence. 

 

Vibrant, was what he thought of, that vibrant red hair slicked back with steaks of black. Like a fire burning, like the sunset he watched just now, raw strength seeping from him. It was as if that strength could burst into flames and consume everything at any moment. Overwhelmed by the absolute strength radiating from him, Keito averted his gaze cautiously. He let his eyes fall to the hem of his jacket grazing the floor, grimy with dirt and dust. Presumably, the jacket used to be white and so did the bandage wrapped tightly around the man's muscular arm, speckled with dirt.

 

Even without eye contact, Keito could feel the man's gaze cutting into him; those sharp eyes boring into him. It was definitely not an ideal situation for him, his neck was exposed and vulnerable, bent before someone who could easily snap it.He felt the man's gaze skimming across him, making goosebumps raise across his skin. He could see the thugs around them pacing about, on the look out for more intruders. Their weapons; machetes,  metal bats, crow bars, dragged along the floor, screeching harshly. His wound hurt more than ever now. Silence hung between him and the Boss, and his heart beat furiously. Now this was getting awkward, thought Keito, though it was rather hopeless of him to get trapped. Reluctantly, he raised his eyes again to meet the man’s, hoping to break the tension, perhaps lie his way out. 

 

“You’re hurt.”

 

His voice came out deep and husky, as if scratching against the walls of his throat. Shocked, Keito barely stuttered a positive respond. The man stared at Keito for another second or two, as if contemplating something. Then, as quickly as he could’ve, the man stood up, tugging Keito along with him. Surprisingly, he wasn’t that much taller than Keito, with only a few centimetres on him. Swiftly, he slung Keito’s arm over his shoulder, being careful not to press on his aggravated wound. 

 

“We’ll get you to a doctor.”

 

The walk there was quiet, his gang had not followed, instead disappearing into another alley at his orders. From the corner of his eye, Keito observed the man again, taking note of his strong features: from his jawline, to his cheekbones, to the sharp slant of his eyes, to the hard-as-rock aura he emanated. The piercings on his ear, one of the most glaring marks of a delinquent, glistened sporadically as it caught onto rays of the rare streetlamp. The obnoxiously bright red of his hair stood out just as much at night, yet somehow it seemed much softer and warmer. 

Unfortunately, the man turns and catches Keito red-handed in his staring act. Embarrassed, he turned away sharply.

 

How hopeless of him.

 

The checkup by the doctor, a shabby man with a slight stubble and survives on only coffee, was a brief and hurried affair. “No need to be too gentle with males,” he had said, “or else they get mollycoddled to much.” The doctor was out of the room in a matter of minutes, muttering something about picking up girls, leaving Keito with the man in the room. Sitting on the creaking bed, Keito stared at the ground, lost at to what to say or do to break the silence between them. Quickly, he stole a glance at the man. He stood quietly, leaning against the wall and gazing out of the stained window. With a suppressed sigh, Keito pushed himself up, ignoring the pain still prickling his abdomen, and started staggering out of the room.

 

In a flash, the man was by his side, an arm over his shoulder once again. “Don’t force yourself.” His voice came out gravelly again, this time even lower and softer, his breath tickling against Keito’s ear. Awkwardly, they hobbled out of the clinic in silence once again. As the man turned to leave, Keito heard himself call out. 

 

“Thank you.”

He turned around and stared at Keito.

 

“W—what’s your name?” Keito tried again.

 

“Kiryuu Kuro.”

 

“Thank you.” It slipped out of him once again. “For helping me.” Even though you really shouldn’t have, he added silently.

 

The man, no, Kiryuu Kuro, seemed to change his mind and walked towards him again. 

 

“You’re welcome, Hasumi Keito.”

 

Before Keito could react, he had walked away and turned into an alley. He looked down, and shoved in his hands, was his ID card.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuo makes his dazzling reappearance

The room was dark, barely lit, the lights having fizzled out silently an hour ago. Keito lay slumped over his desk, eye fluttering open and shut sporadically. The computer screen glowered dimly, as if angry at its owner for having the gall to fall asleep while using it. A small groan slips past his lips as he sifted around uncomfortably, his bandaged wound brushing against the armrest. His hand trembled slightly, shifting the mouse a few inches to the right as he slowly opened his eyes. The world before him was a hazy mess, piles of paper stacked haphazardly, cans of empty energy drinks rolled gently around his table. One falls onto the ground with a sharp cry. The air in the room was stale and draped itself around Keito, pressing down on his head from all sides. He could feel the beginnings of a headache as he squinted at the flickering monitor. 

 

“Ki..Kiryu Kuro…?”

 

The hand that had reached out for another can of coffee gave a sudden jerk to the left, knocking over yet another can of energy drink. This time, the not quite so empty can wobbled precariously, before spilling over, the last few drops of liquid splashing onto the tabletop. But Keito had not paid attention to this, for he was too caught up in his jumbled thoughts to notice the coin sized puddle that had formed. His mind was solely focused, for now, on the rows of information he had dug up from the bottomless depths of the information bank. 

 

“ Kiryu Kuro, 21”

“Occupation: Karate Instructor”

“Affiliations: Yakuza”

“Current known location: Tokyo, Japan”

 

His glasses has cut his nose bridge with a vengeance as he slept, and he ran his finger over them wearily. Although he had guessed that the group he had ran into was the local Yakuza, Keito had not fathomed that the man that had brought him to the clinic was the leader of the largest offensive division. It puzzled him, the benevolence the man had shown him. He was almost certain that there were numerous signs that night, that had pointed to him being an agent, yet the man chose to lend him a helping hand. Was he plotting something? Does he want leverage over me? Or was he simply so thickheaded that he was unable to see the evidence? His brows knitted into a frown as he struggled to rationalise the thoughts of a man he barely knew.

 

The buzzing of his phone knocks an eraser off his desk.

 

It seemed like everything on his desk had an inclination to pitch themselves off the edge, as if there was an angry cat taking a swipe every few minutes.  Keito found himself being unable to bother getting out of the chair, instead opting to stretch his arm out to grab his phone. His wound tinged and he silently hoped he had not opened it up yet again.

 

“ Good morning Keito!”

Keito reached out and rubbed his temples, having half a mind to just hang up right there and then.

 

“…yes Eichi?”

“How are you feeling today? Have you seen a doctor yet?”

 

“No, I’m fine, the wound’s closed up now. You really should be worrying more about yourself, didn’t you just land yourself in the hospital last Thursday? I’ve told you many times to take better care of yourself and not be so reckless. You need to remember you’re the president of the company, if you fall so will the it. “

 

Eichi simply laughs. How like Keito to lecture him so early in the morning.

 

“Don’t be like this Keito. It’s 10 in the morning and you’re already lecturing me? I can tell you’ve just woken up yourself too.”

 

“…You’re incorrigible, Eichi.”

 

Keito massaged a sore spot between his brows with his fingertips. 

 

“ Oh and by the way, there’s no need for you stop visit me later. I think I would feel better if you stayed home to rest. Don’t overload on the paperwork, you know you can always give some to me too.”

 

Lying back on his bed, Eichi smiles, knowing fully well that no matter how hard he tries to convince his childhood friend to rest, the stubborn man would never heed his advice. He could already picture the headlines of the local newspaper: “Vice-president of the Tenshouin Corporation dies when mountains of paperwork falls on him.” He chuckled to himself as the nurse called for him to take his medicine.

 

On the other end of the line, Keito stared at the stacks of paper before him. They rose like mountains from the tabletop, consuming over half the space, leaving him with barely any room to move. The pen by his hand lay still, as if waiting for him to pick it up. He eyed the stacks once more, contemplating if he should get started on them. They would take ages to finish, especially since Mao was out of town, visiting his relatives. Keito sighed for the third time this morning and slips the first piece of paper off the stack.

 

A knocking on the door interrupts him once again.

 

The door fell away to reveal Souma, in his pyjamas, staring sleepily up at him. He mumbled a sleep “good morning” as he clambered up onto Keito’s lap, dragging his sword along for the ride. Keito smiled softly down at the child and petted his head, whispering a soft greeting back. He glanced at his paperwork once more. It was now almost 11. His paper work could definitely wait. Gently, he picked Souma up, along with his precious sword, and hauled the both of them downstairs. 

 

“How does pancakes sound for breakfast?”

 

Souma, now drifting in and out of dreamland again, waved a little fist in agreement.

 

Meanwhile, a few miles away, a little further from the city, the orphanage was bustling with activity. The children ran amok the playground, screaming and laughing. The children with no parents, they played to their heart’s content, without knowing their predicament. Of course, a few older children might grasp little bits of their past, but they mostly kept it to themselves, never letting any signs of their sadness, if any,  cloud their smiles. That’s what the tall redhead thought to himself, as he hoisted a little girl off the slide. One day, perhaps these children would come to realise that they grew up together, in a place with little adults, because they had lost theirs too early in their lives. 

 

A little boy in blue runs up to him and flings himself into Kuro’s arms. Kuo picks him up and spins him around as the boy laughs, pretending to be an aeroplane in the sky. It was enough for him to make them happy, it seemed, as a group of children swarmed over, tugging at Kuro’s jacket, all eager for their turn. He couldn’t say he fully understood how children’s minds worked, how they kept their youthful joy and vitality in face of the lonely path they used to tread, but it was enough for him just to see their smiles. Perhaps now, even if it were only within this distant land, he could be something more than just a thug.

 

“They do adore you so, I hope you’d come by more often. It makes me happy seeing them smile.” As the children ran off for their meals, the elderly lady eased herself down onto the sofa in front of Kuro, with a tray of tea and some snacks in hand. He thanks her with a smile. “It makes me happy too.” The soft fragrance of the tea settled itself comfortably in the air, between the noisy chatter of the children and the two content adults, watching over them.

 

The grandfather’s clock rang and the children filtered out of the dining room. Some ran, some hopped and some sauntered towards the mini stage erected in the a little to the left of their playroom. The lady brings out a basket of puppets and Kuro took it from her hands. She was too old to be handling such heavy objects, Kuro thought, she should really hire a helper. She laughed it off, what a nice gentleman, as carefree in her age as the children she took in. “What play should we put on today?”, she asks the children with a smile. From the group of eager children rose a tiny hand, and the young girl shouted.

 

“Little Red Riding Hood, please!”

 

Kuro grinned and fishes out a a puppet of a little girl swathed in a vibrant red.

* * *

 

 

After the play, the children were exhausted and ran off, without any need for pushing, to their own beds. As the children napped, Kuo reflected on the strange absence of the familiar sound of a sword scrapping the floor. He turned to the elderly lady and asked, “there was a child here, purple hair, with a sword…”

 

“Oh, you mean Souma? He was such a quiet child, serious too. Always held that long sword in his hands and refused to part with it, even though it was too big for him. He was such a lovely kid, so sweet and understanding.”

 

“Where is he now?”

 

“He was adopted a while back, on the month you went on a business trip.”

 

Although he was a little sad, Kuro allowed his lips to lift a little. The kid with the sword has grown on him. Sure, he was a little hard to approach at first, but with time, he realised what a sweet child he was. No one knew where he came from, only that he had showed up one day clutching his sword with a serious expression on his face. He neither cried for his mother nor showed any signs of distress. He had held on to his sword, as if it were his lifeline, as if afraid that he would be stranded in this vast world without it. The first time Kuo had approached him, the child had asked, “do you know how to use a sword?”

 

“No, but I do know some Karate.”

 

At the sound of a car pulling up outside, Kuo drags himself out of he is reverie. 

 

“Is it okay, if I asked, who adopted Souma?”

 

The lady hesitates and bit her lip. 

 

“I can’t, not with the privacy law. But I can tell you how he looks like.”

 

The car outside the orphanage had stopped its sputtering.

 

“The man was tall and skinny, green hair, green eyes and he wore spectacle. He was a pretty good looking young man.”

 

Kuro’s breath hitched and a certain profile flashed before his eyes. It couldn’t be. Although they’ve only met once, he could sketch out the man’s face in his mind. He couldn’t find a good reason as to why he had helped that injured man in a suit, yet he felt compelled to do so. His hand found its way into his pocket and he toyed with his phone. 

 

“Hasumi Keito, 21”

“Occupation: Vice President of the Tenshounin Corporation”

“Affliations: the Mafia”

“Current know location: Tokyo, Japan”

 

He had done his share of research too. He struggled with his mind for a while, tallying the odds of the man being one and the same. 

 

The door of the orphanage creaks open and the the lady happily greets the visitors with a cheerful hello.

 

As Kuro turned towards the door, a streak of purple barrelled towards him , bogged down by the heavy sword he carried. With a huge grin, he swept Souma into his arms as the child opened his arms for a hug. A few voices rang from behind, as his friends called for him. Kuro watched their tearful reunion with a soft smile. He seemed to be doing just fine.

 

“Oh, it’s so nice to see you again. It’s been a while since you visited us, Hasumi-san. I really appreciate all that you’ve done to help the kids.”

 

Startled Kuo turned towards the guest that had brought Souma back. The same man stood before him, smiling at the elderly lady. Tall, slender and pale, his deep green hair contrasting sharply with his skin, so pale it looked almost sickly. Keito adjusted his glasses and replied, “it’s no problem, anything for the children really.”

 

A young child cries and the lady turns to leave. Their eyes met and a flash of emotion ghosted over the green-haired man’s eyes. His hand swung down, at a loss for what to do. They stared at each other, rooted to the spot, as if they were meeting for the first time again. 

 

The second hand of the grandfather clock ticked by, as they stood unblinking at each other, a mix of disbelief, suspicion and surprise. Finally, Keito took a deep breath and broke the silence.

 

“Are you the man Souma missed so much? He’s said a lot about you.”

 

Kuo blinked in surprise, taken aback by his words. 

 

Against all the alarm bells ringing in his head, Keito forsook his rationality and tried again. He stretched out a hand towards Kuro.

 

“Hasumi Keito here, nice to meet you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay! I know I said I'd update after my exams but I got caught up with my other commitments... 
> 
>  
> 
> Also release of Silica Conference Kuro on the CN serves made me rewrite my entire storyline ;;;; it now has 3 different endings instead. 
> 
> Updates will be more frequent, but will still take a while as I'm a rather slow writer. Please do let me know if you have any suggestions or comments!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute children at the orphanage

The skies were clear, with barely any hits of cloudiness. The sun shone down from where it hung, not with its usual fiery beams, but with a mellowed out shimmer that softened the earth. The children ran amongst themselves, immersed in their playful make believe. The girl with pigtails was a princess, trapped in the tower that was the slide.  The boy in the green shirt was the evil dragon and the other with a bandaid over his nose was the hero.

 

“Somebody please save me!”

 

The ‘hero’ brandishes his sword in the face of the mighty dragon. He roars in the face of a flimsy cardboard blade.

 

The wooden bench, made for children, creaked under the weight of two grown men, hunched together. From afar, it was an odd sight, a pair of figures too big for the bench, huddled as far as they could from each other, though even then there was barely a few centimetres between them. They were quiet, both absorbing themselves in the children’s plays. A slight wind rustled the leaves of a few trees. A mynah carefully picks up a shiny penny from the grass. Keito looks on as the ‘hero’ batters the ‘dragon’, lacing his fingers together. To his left, Kuro inhaled sharply and he resisted the urge to turn. Even if hadn’t turned to steal a glimpse, Kuro was so close, he could spy him from the corner of his eye.

 

“So…how’s your wound doing?”

“…It’s fine now.”

 

The ‘dragon’ had fallen, defeated by the powerful cardboard sword. The ‘hero’ scales the daunting two and a half meter mountain and takes the hand of the princess. A little to the side, Souma clapped along with the rest of his friends. The story was coming to an end.

 

“I’m sorry about that day. I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly.”

 

Keito cleared his throat awkwardly, pushing his glasses up. He didn’t know whether he was nervous about being exposed or nervous about sitting beside such a dangerous man, in an orphanage of children no less, but he pushed the thoughts aside. He’d rather not know. The stitched-up wound itched a little, and he resisted the urge to rest his hand on it. Kuo allows himself another tiny smile; he couldn’t understand this man, really, but right now, he was more concerned for Souma than anything. If he tilted his head a little to the right, he could see Souma, now enthusiastically teaching his fellow children how to wield a sword. Their eyes were rapt with attention.

 

“Spare me the formalities, it’s alright. Just helping someone out.”

 

Kuro smiled and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. The silence between them was turning stale, choking them as if they were in a badly ventilated room and Kuro was more than happy to break it. He doesn’t ask why or how Keito landed himself in such a state, nor does he bring up the details of that night. Kuo knew fully well what had went down then, and the truth the man seemingly wanted to hide. He steals yet another glance at the purple haired child, now in the forefront of a group of stick wielding children, swinging his sword with them. 

 

He had grown so much, from the child he first saw two years ago, when he started volunteering at the orphanage. From a child who was so serious that he could barely make friends, to the joyful child leading what could be a potential sword cult in the orphanage, Kuro felt his heart warm seeing the boy’s growth. Souma swung his sword once more, and his group of followers copied attentively. The sun was now partially masked by the clouds, drifting hazily across it, its beam quietly filtering through. As the they hit the earth, it illuminated Kuro, his hair glowing a fiercer red than it had before.

 

Keito awkwardly pulls his lips into what he hoped was a semblance of a smile and stared off into the distant. He tried his best not to look to his left, lest he wanted himself to feel as trapped as he had that night. What a mess, a rather hopeless one that he had dug for himself if he were to be completely honest. Souma slammed his sword into the ground, as gently as he could, and the children behind him followed suit. Loud cracks rang as wooden sticks snapped in half. He could hear Kuro chuckled, his low voice sounding like a distant rumble. Souma looked up and smiles at them.

 

The silence between them returned, though lighter than before. Neither were willing to divulge too much, for they knew that they were two sides of the same coin. Strange, it seemed, that they should be sitting in the playground of an orphanage, watching over children as they played, when they should be at two ends of a battlefield, taking each other’s lives with their blood-soaked hands. Perhaps their tainted hands should never touch those young children.

 

“Why did you adopt him?”

 

Keito looked up in surprise, whipping around to face Kuro. He let his lips slip open, but was unable to find an answer. He blinks for a few seconds, before looking away once more.

 

“I——“

 

Souma rushed towards them at high speed, flinging himself into Keito’s lap. He smiled up at him expectantly, chiming, “it’s now past 6, Dad.” His sword rested against his thigh, tied to his waist , and as he moved, seemed to pull him down towards the ground. Keito smiled down at his son and pulled him to his feet as he too, stood up. As he was about to bid Kuo goodbye, Souma burst out.

 

“Dad, Dad, there’s this conference thing coming up at school and we’re supposed to bring our parents there. Can Uncle come along too? There’s a play I wanna watch too.”

 

“It’s not nice to trouble others, Souma. Why don’t you ask him yourself.”

 

Keito could feel his resolve to say no faltering as Souma clung onto his leg as hard as he could. His resolve was crumbling faster than a flimsy stack of cards.

 

“Of course, I’d be an honour.” Kuro laughed again.

 

 Souma grinned so hard, his smile could have lit up the sky. He raised his little hands in triumph and leapt for joy, his heavy sword bouncing against his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a Bad Filler Chapter TM while I try to fix my problematic writing I'm sorry uwu


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